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Take Heart
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25 October 2009 Years ago, we had the confirmation class do a simple exercise. One member left the room and was blindfolded, while the rest of the group remained in the room and scattered obstacles across the floor. The blindfolded individual was brought back and everyone started yelling instructions: turn left–go straight–back up–turn right. Only one voice was giving accurate information–all the other voices were trying intentionally to compete and mislead. The exercise was to show our confirmands something of the work of the Spirit, always speaking, but often hard to hear among competing voices. This isn’t exactly the situation with Bartimaeus. The voices blending with the voice of this blind beggar aren’t so much competing or misleading: they are trying to silence him altogether...at least for the moment. But Bartimaeus speaks and acts with persistence because he needs mercy, he needs compassion. His need pushes him beyond the conventions of the crowd, beyond socially-acceptable behaviors for those on the margins of society. “Lincoln Galloway writes that Bartimaeus ‘refuses to be defined by [his] circumstance or by the expectations of those who are able to see, who appear to be close to Jesus, and who assume the right to speak on his behalf.’”[1] Marginalization isn’t unique to Bartimaeus. It isn’t even unique to those pushed to the edges because of gender or gender identity, because of poverty, racism, or war. Every one of us here knows the anxiety of being on the receiving end of what feels like too long a response time on an e-mail, of having a self-revealing comment ignored, even of being dismissed by a child. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for a moment, if it’s never vocalized, something within us cries out that our needs matter...that we matter. Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, matters. He calls out to Jesus from the margins of the crowd, asking for mercy. Jesus stands still and tells the crowd to call Bartimaeus to him. And here, right here, the story does a double turn. The plea for mercy, the story of healing, becomes a call story. Jesus asks a question we have heard in the story just before Bartimaeus: What do you want me to do for you? What do you want me to do for you? It’s the same question Jesus asks James and John when they come to him, not for mercy, but for pride of place, for the place of supreme honor at Jesus’ right hand and his left. [Mark 10.35-45] Here are disciples, Jesus’ hand-picked followers, pleading for special honors, and Jesus tells them that in his way of doing things, those who wish to become great must serve others. But the lesson is lost on the disciples. There is no suggestion that they rebuke the crowds for shushing Bartimaeus. There is no suggestion that the disciples understand that serving the least includes listening to a blind beggar. But on the road to Jerusalem, Jesus stops for one more healing–his last. He calls Bartimaeus to him and asks, What do you want me to do for you? It’s a question that doesn’t presume to know the mind of another, a question that respects the integrity of the individual to name his or her own need. When I was in seminary, I began what would become thirteen years of service on the old United Church Board for World Ministries. I served on the Latin American regional committee, and asked how projects were determined in a given community. I was told the story of missionaries in a small village who were convinced that the most important need in that community was a well so that fresh water would be close at hand. But when they asked the villagers what was needed, the response was a gathering place, a town hall. Reluctantly, the missionaries helped provide resources to build the town hall. At its dedication, the villagers gathered for the first time under one roof, where a town hall meeting became the order of the day. At the meeting, the community determined that its greatest need was a well. In that village, greater priority was placed on the gathering of the entire community, than even on having fresh water readily available. What do you want me to do for you? Bartimaeus doesn’t ask to sit in a place of honor; he asks for his sight to be restored. He asks to receive Jesus’ mercy. Walter Brueggemann writes that ‘Mercy is that strange transformative reach from a center of strength to a center of need that changes everything and makes all things new.’”[1] Bartimaeus regains his sight. But he doesn’t ‘go’ as Jesus commands; instead, he follows Jesus on the Way. Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, sees what is important, and becomes a disciple in the truest sense of the word. What do you want me to do for you? Jesus’ question of his disciples and of Bartimaeus is his question of each of us. In that question, he reaches out from his center of strength to our center of need, ready to touch us with mercy. Hush. Hush. Take heart; Jesus is calling your name. *** [1] Take Heart, Reflection by Kate Huey, Sermon Seeds, www.ucc.org, Sunday, October 25, 2009, Focus Scripture: Mark 10.46-52. |